


Texas Hold 'Em

by ntldr



Series: The SARMA universe [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: youngling Hot Rod
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 17:41:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6866566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ntldr/pseuds/ntldr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some of the Autobots sit down for a game of human cards with the newest arrivals.  </p><p>Set in the SARMA comic series by greenapplefreak of deviantArt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Texas Hold 'Em

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [the SARMA universe](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/197536) by greenapplefreak. 



_((AN: Before you read, head over to greenapplefreak's page on deviantArt and familiarize yourself with her comics about Sunstreaker and Hot Rod. The established universe will be difficult to understand without them.))_

The promotion to Strategic Command had been offered because of his innate ability to pick on the subtleties of the rest of the crew, and to use that information to balance out Prowl's overarching tactics. It was his job to be the quieter, personable commander which the Autobot Second-In-Command could not be.  Thus, he'd become acquainted with the little quirks and idiosyncrasies of each Autobot, both good and bad.  

Smokescreen, however, had not much experience with younglings.

The dark blue mech glanced over the top of his cards at the orange youngling seated close to Sunstreaker.  Hot Rod's frame made him easy to mistake for a weakened, under-armed and under-armored minibot.  However, unlike how Cliffjumper was lazily seated nearby, Hot Rod knelt up on his chair, hunched over slightly with his elbows on the table as he pondered his own cards.  If he had to guess, Smokescreen would say that it was so he was closer to the same optic level as the bigger mechs.  Maybe after his next upgrade, he soon would be.

“Raise you by ten.”  Sideswipe moved one of his larger chips towards the center of the table.

Smokescreen obliged him, doing the same, as did Cliffjumper, and Sunstreaker.  Hot Rod glanced at his cards, then at Sunstreaker, then put in his bet as well.

“You sure you want to play with us, kid?”  Cliffjumper smirked at the younger mech.  “You won't be getting your chips back.”

“I'm fine.  And they're Sunstreaker's chips anyway.”

Sideswipe cackled, while Sunstreaker revved his engine irritably.

“Hot Rod, don't lose.”

“I won't.”

It impressed Smokescreen at how confident the youngling's voice was, even as he grimaced at his two cards.  Sunstreaker had told them beforehand that he practiced playing Cybertronian card games with Hot Rod while they were journeying through space, but he doubted that such a young mech would be able to keep up with the older warriors, especially when they'd opted for a human card game.  Still, it wouldn't hurt to socialize him with mechs other than Sunstreaker.  Primus knew that the Autobots had been shocked to learn that they'd somehow survived a trip across the galaxy together.

Being the dealer of that round, Smokescreen dealt three cards into the middle, and as he did, he glanced at the reactions of his fellow players.  Clockwise to him, Cliffjumper, who had never been good at keeping his emotions in check, frowned and fanned himself with his cards as he huffed through his vents.  To his left, Sunstreaker stayed dispassionate, even when Hot Rod looked at him warily before returning his attention to his own cards.  Sideswipe smirked and drummed his fingers on the table.  Smokescreen had been on Earth long enough to know that Sideswipe could hold a poker face when he wanted to; he just didn't see a need for it yet apparently.

“Raise by ten again.”

“Call it.”

“Call.”  Cliffjumper grumbled as he pushed his chips in to join Smokescreen's and Sideswipe's.  Sunstreaker pushed in his as well, and after a hesitation, so did Hot Rod.

Smokescreen had to stop himself from making a sympathetic _click_ for the youngling.  Poor kid just wanted to play with the bigger 'Bots.

As he turned over a fourth card on the table, he casually reached into his subspace pocket with his other hand, as if adjusting his inventory, and skillfully flicked one of his own cards under the table, onto Hot Rod's knee.  The orange mech sat up a little higher, and stared at Smokescreen, who winked at him with one optic before returning his attention to the hand.  

At the edge of his vision, he saw the youngling slowly lower his two cards to the edge of the table, drop one of them, and replace it with Smokescreen's card.  Sunstreaker bristled, his optics narrowing, but he couldn't tell if it was a negative response to the cards on the table, or he'd noted that his youngling was cheating.

Sideswipe suddenly straightened up and glanced at Sunstreaker.  Smokescreen raised his head, puzzled.  He hadn't noticed a comm line being opened, but before he could double-check, both twins had their optics on their cards again, Sideswipe now less confident than before, Sunstreaker's face still impassive.

“Check.”  The red twin tapped his two cards.

Smokescreen repeated him.  “Check.”

“I fold.”  Cliffjumper tossed his two cards in.

“Check.”

“Check.”  Hot Rod looked at Sunstreaker again, as if asking for confirmation, but was ignored.  Smokescreen wondered briefly if this was normal for the duo, and what that said for how well the Autobot had been looking after the youngling, before turning over the fifth and final card.

This time Sunstreaker gave Sideswipe a pointed look, and the red twin's frown deepened.  Defensive Command also meant keeping an overhead on internal affairs, and he was modest about how much he could really see and hear.   Yet Smokescreen was _certain_ that no comm had been opened.  

“Check.”

“Check.”  Smokescreen tapped his cards, as did Sunstreaker.

“I...want to raise.”

Hot Rod found himself the attention of three sets of blue optics.  Sunstreaker was still ignoring him.

“By how much?” Smokescreen coaxed him.

“Twenty?”  Hot Rod cleared his vocalizer, then repeated himself more confidently.  “Twenty.”

“I fold,” Sideswipe said immediately, pushing his cards away.

Smokescreen stared down the smaller mech, keeping his face impassive, and hoping that Hod Rod would try to emulate him.  He'd set the youngling up to win the hand with two pairs.  But it looked like Sunstreaker hadn't taught him how to hold a poker face yet.  Strange, considering how well Sunstreaker kept on his own, but maybe Hot Rod was too young and excitable to learn that yet.

“Raise you by twenty more.”

He slid two more large chips towards the center of the table.  He would lose some chips, but he might as well work on the kid's resoluteness as well, especially if Sunstreaker would do nothing but ignore him.

The golden twin, meanwhile, crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair.  “Fold.”  

Hot Rod glanced at him, his cards, and the five cards on the table.  “I raise by twenty,” he said, raising the pot even further.

Cliffjumper whistled.  

Smokescreen smirked.  “Let's see how much I've won.”  He turned over his cards for the rest of the players to see.  “One pair.  Hot Rod, you have--”

“Straight flush.”

“...What.”

“Straight flush.”  Grinning broadly, Hot Rod showed off his own two cards for the table.

Smokescreen had to refresh his optics.  Neither of them were the card that he'd passed to him.

Cliffjumper guffawed, bending over the table edge and smacking his hand on it, snapping the dark blue mech out of his shock.  “You just got cleaned out by a youngling, Smokey!”  Across from him, Sideswipe was cackling too, and the quickest of grins briefly crossed Sunstreaker's face as Hot Rod happily collected his winnings before the player's mask fell over him again.

“...Beginner's luck,” Smokescreen proclaimed, then leveled his optics at Hot Rod's.  “Now, we'll play for real.  Isn't that right, Hot Rod?”

“I don't know about you, but I already was,” the orange mech retorted, renewing the table's laughter.

Now it was Cliffjumper's turn to deal.  After the round of blinds, each mech was dealt two cards, and three more were turned face-down on the table.  This time Hot Rod didn't bother to hide how eager he was to play, bouncing around on his knees until Sunstreaker gave him a firm _look_ that quieted him.  Sideswipe gave his cards a non-committal look before setting them down under his hand, and Cliffjumper chuckled at his before proping up his chin with his hand and staring at Sideswipe.  Sideswipe shrugged at him, and moved five small chips into the pot, which Smokescreen doubled.

“Raise by twenty.”  Cliffjumper pushed two big chips forward.

“Fold,” Sunstreaker said immediately.

“Fold.”

“Fold.”

“Fold.”

Cliffjumper smacked his cards down angrily and picked up his meager winnings.  “You guys are no fun.”

Sunstreaker's turn.  He flipped cards to the other players with a practiced ease that Smokescreen had noted similar to Sideswipe's, though he'd known the red twin for longer.  Smokescreen pushed in one large chip, and, scowling at him, Cliffjumper doubled it.

“Raise by ten.”  Sunstreaker pushed in two chips.

“Raise by five more.”  Hot Rod added his in as well.

“The Pits are you two up to?” Cliffjumper snapped as Sideswipe matched Hot Rod's bet.

Smokescreen shrugged and matched his own too.  “Probably about to show us how well two mechs can work in tangent.”

There it was again.  The same brief, attentive motion by both twins, as if one had spoken and the other had reacted.  He was sure that he wasn't imagining it. 

Cliffjumper hadn't noticed, too busy mumbling at his chips while pushing in his bet.  But Hot Rod had lifted his optics, glancing at Sunstreaker, who _still_ ignored him as he put in five chips.  Whatever embedded comm line they were using, the youngling was not privy to it, and he knew it.  Smokescreen noted the hurt look on the Hot Rod's face, directed towards Sunstreaker, before the youngling's optics suddenly widened and switched to his lap.

The corner of Smokescreen's mouth twitched up in a smirk.  While Sunstreaker directed the table's attention by flipping over the three cards, Hot Rod quietly lowered his hand over the edge and then raised it again, one of the cards now more crooked than before.  He managed to give Sunstreaker the barest look of appreciation before studying the new card.

Cliffjumper leaned over to stare at the three cards and grimaced.  “...Well, kid?”

“Check.”

“Check.”

“Raise fifteen.”  

The rest of them called Smokescreen's bet, then bet again on the fourth card.  As the fifth card was flipped over, Cliffjumper's optics lit up in delight.

“Raise fifty!”

Sunstreaker growled.  “It's Hot Rod's turn.”

“And when he gets over to me, I'll raise fifty!”

“Fine.”  Hot Rod straightened up before Sunstreaker could speak again.  “Raise fifty.”  He pushed five large chips towards the center.

There was a brief wash of alarm on Sideswipe's face, but at a pointed look from Sunstreaker, he grimaced and matched the bet.  “Call.”

“...Fold.”  Smokescreen quietly pushed his cards in, then crossed his arms, amused and curious to see what trick the youngling was about to pull.  

“Nice knowing you, baby-bot.”  Cliffjumper snickered as he glanced at his cards for reassurance, then pushed a stack of his chips forward.  “Raise one-hundred!”

“All in!” Hot Rod shouted back, completely skipping over Sunstreaker's turn as he pushed his entire stack forward with his palms, scattering a few of them.  Sideswipe's optics grew tremendously wide.  

“H-Hey, wait a second--!”

“He knows what he's doing,” Sunstreaker said gruffly.  “Oh, and I fold.”

“I call it.”  Cliffjumper's grin grew wider and wider as he matched Hot Rod's stack.  “Now let's see what I got here....oh, look at that!”

He threw down his cards and stood up on his chair.

“Straight flush! Ha! Beat, that, you little--!”

“Royal flush!”

Cliffjumper froze in mid-air-punch.  “...You got to be fragging with me.”

“Nope.”  Hot Rod grinned slyly as he held his two cards against the five in the middle. “Look at that.  I think nothing beats that, does it?”

The red minibot stared at the cards, struck, then slowly sank down to his seat, amid a whoop from Sideswipe and applause from him and Smokescreen.  Sunstreaker used his larger arm to help the youngling pull his winnings towards him, while Cliffjumper shook his head.  

“...How in the nine Pits...?”

He suddenly sat straight up, paying rigid attention.

“Deal the next hand.”

Smokescreen craned his neck over to see the remains of the minibot's stack.

“Cliff, I'd bow out if I were you.  You only have--”

“Just deal the next hand.”

It was Hot Rod's turn.  And then, when Cliffjumper was watching him closely, was when he finally made a mistake.

After the bets were made, the orange youngling passed two cards around to the players, but as he dealt to himself, he gasped as two of the cards that he was holding together slipped apart and fell into his lap, in clear sight of everyone.

Immediately the red minibot was standing on his seat again and screaming as he pointed at Hot Rod.

_“He's cheating! He's hoarding cards! He's cheating!”_

“He's cheating?!”  

Smokescreen was amazed at the honest surprise in Sideswipe's voice, but right now his priority was keeping Cliffjumper away from Hot Rod.  Or rather, Sunstreaker away from Cliffjumper.  As soon as the minibot jumped down and tried to work around the table, the golden mech had knocked back his chair with a clatter and stood in his way, his engine revving dangerously as he glowered down at the smaller Autobot.

“Your youngling cheated me out of my chips!” Cliffjumper shouted at him, never one to be wisely intimidated by anything.  

“Like you weren't cheating half the time either.”

“I want my chips back!”

“You want to see what'll happen if you lay a hand on him?”

“Gentlemechs!” Smokescreen tried to thrust himself between them, but Cliffjumper ducked around his legs and stormed up to Sunstreaker again.

“What'll happen?! Will his carrier have to come to save the day?!”

“Carrier?! Come here you fragging little--”

“He was _cheating?!”_  Sideswipe's voice reached a new octave on the last word.

As Smokescreen tried again, fruitlessly, to keep the golden mech and red minibot apart, Hot Rod took his cue to slip down from his chair and try to quietly yet triumphantly exit the room, his winning chips tucked into his arms.  Before he could get more than a few paces, hands snatched him up from under his arms, causing him to squawk and drop his chips as he was lifted into the air.

“Sideswipe!” That finally got Sunstreaker to turn away from the impending fight.  But Sideswipe ignored his twin, instead shifting Hot Rod to face him as lifted him above his head, his blue optics wide and awed.  He looked like he would nearly cry with joy.

“You magnificent piece of slag!” he crowed.  “We are _so_ keeping you!

“Put me _down!”_

“SIDESWIPE!”

“What?  Uh-oh.”  

The red twin turned, and, seeing his brother storming towards him, had the sense to safely tuck the youngling under his arm as he sprinted for his life, while Hot Rod howled at him and tried to grab at the fallen chips on their way by.


End file.
